


you can have some cake

by whowhotellsyourstory



Series: Uncle Steve's Fix-it Freelance Gig (and friends) [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Food, Gen, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Steve drives a car, Strangers!, peter has the stress, sibling stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 18:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20394340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whowhotellsyourstory/pseuds/whowhotellsyourstory
Summary: "How long do you think it would take me to learn how to drive?""Remind me again, why does your dad still allow you to have unsupervised access to motorized vehicles?""Mommy says he doesn't know how to set boundaries."-Roadtrip!





	you can have some cake

“_Good morning, Sargent Barnes,_” said a synthesized female voice. Steve looked up. Bucky had just walked in, Lucky in tow – he was staring at the square display Tony had set up by the front door, which was currently speaking to him. FRIDAY's tone of voice was perfectly cordial, something that was naturally putting an expression of high suspicion on Bucky's face. “_If I can offer my assistance, I can come up with several routes that would properly deplete the energy of a dog of Lucky's age and build._”

Bucky turned to stare at Steve instead. Steve shrugged and scratched the back of his neck. “I think she's bored. I didn’t let Tony link her to any appliances in the house.”

“The computer’s bored,” Bucky repeated in a deadpan, and finally noticed Morgan quietly observing them on the couch. “Why's Stark’s AI babysitting his kid in our apartment?”

“_I’m_ babysitting Morgan,” Steve said plaintively. “FRIDAY is babysitting _me_.”

“_That was made very clear,_” the AI piped up again. Morgan was giving them all a death glare over the repeated use of the term babysitting, and even Bucky was picking up on it.

He sighed. “Is this a thing that’s gonna keep happening? Can’t be too much to ask for you to give me your Morgan-sitting schedule, can it?”

“I dunno, is it too much to ask _Tony_ for my Morgan-sitting schedule?” Steve grumbled, still ticked off about the phone call he'd gotten that morning.

(“_Need you to do me a Morgan-related favor, Cap._”

“The last time you asked for one of those, you didn’t end up too happy with the results.”

“_You ever witness Pepper’s reaction when her vacation plans get upended? I’ll take my chances with your less-than-stellar child-wrangling skills._”

“Why would your vacation plans get upended?”

“_See, Pep and I took off a couple days early for fondue-_”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut. “I cannot believe I actually told you about that.”

Tony cackled. “_Neither can I. Point being, we left Morgan with Peter and May. Happy was supposed to drive all three of them down to join us for a couple weeks._”

“I know, Bucky said Peter hasn’t shut up about it for a week now-”

Tony was grinning when he resumed speaking, Steve could tell, even if he pretended he hadn’t heard Steve’s comment. “_But it turns out May’s not coming for vague Happy-related reasons, and Happy’s not coming for vague May-related reasons. Pete’s apparently not allowed to be exposed to this information, something I’m gonna be paying for later, with interest, so I picked the the-less-that-I-know approach._”

“…If you’re about to ask me to drive your kids down-”

“_See? You and me, we’re right on the same page. Captain America indeed. It’s so kind of you to offer._”

Steve took a deep breath. “Why can’t Happy drive them down and come back?”

“_Because Happy loves me, but not that much. You’re unemployed and the helpful sort. And Rhodes can’t drive long distances anymore. Also, he laughed in my face when I asked him to join the party, and then hung up the phone on a face-to-face conversation._”

“How would he-”

“_He’s real good at the dramatic arts, why’d you think he’s my best friend?_”

Steve got back on track. “Hold up, why did you say they said no again?”

“_I’m not allowed to send the jet-_”

“Tony-”

“_-I’m an environmentally conscious billionaire._”

“Tony.”

“_And I’m not making the kids fly commercial because I don’t want them to think I don’t love them anymore-_”

“_Tony_, I’m going to hang up the phone, minus Rhodes’ dramatics.”

“_Beach house I mentioned is all the way over here in Malibu._”

Steve let the silence do the talking for a short moment. “That- it’s literally a three-day drive.”

“_Don’t worry, you don’t have to make it. This afternoon, Pepper’s meeting with some officials in DC to get approval for an SI thingamajig, I don’t really know – she needs to take the jet for that one. So, really, you just need to drop the tykes off there._”

“Oh, so it’s only _five hours away_.”

“_Great, see you then._” The dial tone that followed seemed, to Steve, unnecessarily irritating.)

“We're waiting for Peter,” Morgan explained brightly, rolling over belly-up on the couch. Her braided hair spilled over the pillows into the floor, and Lucky finally noticed her as well, running over to gnaw at it.

Bucky perked up. “Parker's coming over?”

Steve grimaced at the reminder that those two had bonded, and specifically, _how _they'd bonded. Tony still cracked himself up to this day, making jokes about Peter's sense of direction, all of which Bucky assured him Peter covered during their misadventure.

“Not for long. Kid’s got a plane to catch.”

Bucky cocked his head at him. “You’re Stark’s errand boy, now?”

Steve shrugged. “Seems I’m unemployed.” Morgan frowned at him. “And it’s always a pleasure to have Ms. Stark around, obviously,” he added teasingly, just for her. She relaxed again.

“Doesn’t he have his own chauffeurs? What’s he a billionaire for?”

“I’m very precious cargo,” Morgan said.

“Tony’s a helicopter parent,” Steve said at the same time.

“…Who won’t spare an _actual_ helicopter?” Bucky asked dubiously.

Steve made a vague, dismissive motion with his hand that Bucky rolled his eyes at. Lucky had regained Morgan’s attention – he was curled up at her feet while she petted him with spirited focus. There was a trail of crumbs tracking her every move from the couch to where she was now tangled up with the dog on the floor – the girl would not learn to eat tidy for the life of her – and Lucky was slowly but surely lapping up each and every one.

“She’s my niece,” he said, shrugging. Morgan looked up and brushed a few messy strands from her braid out of her eyes, which had come loose in the course of the fifteen minutes she’d spent in Steve’s apartment. “I get to drive her.”

* * *

The doorbell rang when Bucky stole Steve's abandoned coffee mug off the counter, like some sort of alarm or carefully schemed distraction. Morgan sprinted over in a flash and Lucky bounded his way after her.

“Peter, I get shotgun,” she announced, the second the door opened to reveal a bright-eyed teen in jeans and a cheesy t-shirt.

“Are we talking front seat or close-range firearm?” Peter returned without missing a beat. “’Cause either way, _no way_.”

Behind him, Happy Hogan was rolling his eyes, ushering Peter inside so he could close the door. “Move it. There’s bags in the car, because the kid emulates Tony right down to his ability to not plan for his immediate future,” he told Steve.

“It was _one laptop_-”

“It was an unnecessary trip, is what it was. _Morgan _didn’t forget to pack anything.”

Morgan rocked on the balls of her feet. “I put my Black Widow plushie in Peter’s bag.”

“Who leaves an apparently indispensable laptop at a friend’s house, anyway?” Happy grumbled, exasperated.

“I’m over at Ned’s all the time,” Peter defended himself. “Sometimes it’s not worth taking it with me.”

“Yeah, I know – you’d think I’m your personal driver.”

Steve finally cleared his throat. “I’ll get the bags.”

That was all Happy needed to hear. “I’m leaving,” he announced, turning to Peter. “Text Tony that you’ve been safely dropped off.”

“Bye, Uncle Happy,” Morgan chirped charmingly, and tugged on the man's sleeve so he'd bend over for her to press an affectionate kiss on his cheek. Happy flushed to the roots of his hair, patted her head, and practically fled the apartment.

Steve stared at Peter for an explanation. The kid shrugged from where he’d wandered over next to Bucky. “Happy’s still getting used to Tony and Pepper having a five-year-old,” he offered, “and Morgan thinks it's hilarious.”

“Do not,” she defended herself. “I’m just a very friendly person.”

“I call it ‘weaponized affection’,” Peter accused. Morgan’s eyes glittered for a moment; she tried to sidle over to him, and he immediately leapt upwards some five feet. Steve’s head snapped up with the same startle he still hadn’t gotten over, watching the kid act more spider than man – Peter was already attached to his ceiling.

Morgan’s jaw hung open. “That’s _cheating_.”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

“I’m _giving _you a hug,” she threatened, staring up at him.

“Parker, get down from there,” Bucky barked. Peter let two of his limbs drop, hanging from his right hand and foot, to give Bucky a betrayed look. “No arachnids in my apartment.”

Peter turned away and entirely ignored him. “You guys could really stand to give those shelves a good scrubbing,” he said, eyes set on the top of the high bookshelf tucked away in the corner.

“I’ll get the bags,” Steve repeated, and meant it this time. There was a steady headache promising itself at the back of his head.

* * *

Happy had barely waited for Steve to slam the trunk closed before he revved the engine and took off. Steve suspected the man had had plans set up with May that had been derailed by Peter that morning, since everyone was currently one hour behind schedule. All in all, they were making pretty good time, considering. Steve was fairly close to snapping into Captain America mode just to get things moving.

When he returned, Tony’s wall gizmo was projecting a video against the opposite wall. Peter had dropped from the ceiling, sitting cross-legged on the floor to watch attentively, and Morgan was draped over his lap as though making a point, even if her eyes were glued to the crispy image glowing on Steve’s blank wallpaper.

Bucky had hopped up onto the kitchen counter, gaze as glassy as the two kids’. Steve waved a hand in front of him and got no acknowledgment.

“_Thought I saw movement over there,_” projection Bucky said, characteristically refraining from elaborating.

“_That’s just a bird_,” Steve heard Sam’s voice reply. The video was from Peter’s perspective, some sort of body camera, in all likelihood, so it shook and made Steve dizzy with all the swinging the kid was doing. Abruptly, the zooming pictures slammed to a halt – video-Peter had grabbed onto a building, staring down at the light-polluted street, where Bucky was idling on the sidewalk.

“_No, _you’re _a bird_,” Bucky argued. “_This is really boring, Parker._”

“_Hey, if _you_ had a job, I’d make fun of it too._”

“That’s mean, Peter,” Morgan chastised, thankfully turning away before she could see video-Bucky’s colorful but silent response.

“Yeah, I’m still bleeding,” Bucky said with a completely robotic inflection.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, making his presence known as they all watched Spider-Man take another inhuman leap.

Morgan pointed at Sam, who’d just flashed by midflight. “Captain America. And Spider-Man, and Uncle Bucky.”

“I personally think you have the coolest superhero moniker,” Peter told Bucky, who shrugged in return.

“At least I’m not named after one of the most disgusting things on the planet, _Spider-Man_.”

“Don’t talk that way about _men_, they’re doing their best,” Morgan insisted. Bucky cracked a smile, and Peter started giggling uncontrollably.

On Steve’s wall, Spider-Man forewent leaping from building to building like a heavyweight flea on steroids, and started swinging instead. He landed on a roof, precariously dangling on the ledge while he looked down. In the distance, the camera showed the blurry outlines of what seemed to be a heated group discussion – Steve’s eyesight would have been better on site, and so was Peter’s.

Morgan shifted forward, weirdly enraptured. Steve thought about what Tony would say if he knew how much exposure to Avenger business she was getting.

“_That’s definitely not a bird,_” Spider-Man declared, crawling down the building in what looked to Steve like a dizzying upside-down trip. “_I think someone took a bar fight outside._”

Sam was still unconvinced. “_You sure?_”

“_Positive_.”

“_The last time you were positive you saw a problem, we ended up finding a beagle for you to pet._”

“_What’s your point?_”

“_I see it too,_” Bucky’s recorded voice confirmed.

“When is this from?” Steve asked, as Sam once again flew down into camera view.

“Like a couple of weeks ago?” Peter said distractedly, unsure. “I dunno, they’ve been hijacking so many of my patrols. You need to get them a hobby,” he advised Steve.

Steve ignored that in order to avoid Bucky’s patronized wrath. “Why are we watching this?”

“We’re self-absorbed,” Bucky supplied.

“Why is _Morgan_ watching this?” Steve clarified.

“Just in case she ever gets bitten by a radioactive spider,” Peter said. “Or a radioactive nazi. Or just accidentally gets shot at by one of the people shooting at her radioactive friends.”

“I asked,” Morgan told Steve, much more honestly.

“FRIDAY was bored,” Bucky added.

The image on the projection jerked suddenly, attracting their collective attention. Spider-Man had landed next to Bucky, the pair of them strolling into the middle of the crowd.

“_Guys, you are _not _supposed to take the furniture _out _of the beverage establishment,_” projection-Peter reprimanded, picking up a broken piece of wood that might have been the leg of a bar stool, once. “_What will the _next_ guy use to start a_ _brawl, huh?_”

“_Would you please stop talking your way through fights?_” Sam demanded, annoyed.

“_We’ve talked about this,_” Peter demurred. “_No._”

Sam swooped down and launched the shield ahead of him. Even as he glided to land in front of the other two, it bounced from person to person, knocking them all on their asses before either Bucky or Peter had to lift a finger. They seemed too stunned to even attempt to get up again; either that or they were thoroughly intoxicated.

“_What, no time for pleasantries?_” Spider-Man cracked ironically. In Steve’s living room, present Peter and Bucky harrumphed in unison.

“That was a fine throw,” Steve praised.

“_That was pure luck,_” Bucky accused, in the projection. In the silence that followed, Steve could perfectly picture the look Sam was giving him right then.

“Oh my god,” Morgan said, wide-eyed. Projection-Peter began webbing up their petty criminals. “Captain America is my favorite.”

Steve got a huge kick out of that, wheezing like he was still asthmatic. Peter immediately crouched down to Morgan’s level, whose attention snapped away from Sam to him. “I need you to do me a huge favor, Momo. You’re gonna tell your dad what you just said, word for word. It’s _really_ important that it’s word for word. Okay?”

Steve laughed harder. Morgan solemnly held out her pinky, and Peter shook it with his whole hand.

“You’re doing that wrong,” Bucky pointed out, gesturing at their joined hands, because it frustrated him – as much as it did Steve – to be newly confused by a modern concept he thought he’d gotten a grasp of.

“No, we’re not,” both kids said at the exact same time with the exact same amount of petulance.

“Alright, that’s enough. FRIDAY, kill the video,” Steve requested, still smiling.

“_Of course, Captain Rogers. Should I cue up the next video in the _Barnes’ Fail Compilation_?_”

Steve turned to Bucky, who gave him a blank look in return. Morgan was swinging her legs on the couch. “Did Tony-?”

“Yes,” Peter said quickly. Bucky narrowed his eyes at him. “Let’s blame Mr. Stark for this.”

“The title is not clever enough for daddy,” Morgan commented unhelpfully.

Bucky crossed his arms as Peter inched away. “Is this a bad time to express how much I hate AI’s?”

“No, it’s fine, FRIDAY doesn’t have access to the orbital nukes,” the kid replied. Bucky’s glower did not lessen.

Morgan frowned. “That doesn’t mean you can’t still hurt her feelings, Pete.” Peter nodded seriously in return, like that was a great point that hadn’t occurred to him.

Bucky pursed his lips. “Do you have feelings, machine lady?”

“_No._”

Bucky nodded, seemingly content. Peter gestured to FRIDAY’s wall speaker. “See, I told you they'd bond,” he told Morgan, who was eyeing Bucky speculatively. “They've got so much in common.”

“You know that video works for a Parker fail compilation too, right?”

“Well, yeah, but my fails are well documented. Yours, not so much.”

Morgan stared at Peter. “Spider-Man doesn’t have fails.”

Peter flushed, for some reason. Steve arched a brow at the interaction. “What about that one time I drove a car through town? Not _across_ town, _through _town.”

“You can _drive_?” she said, beaming.

Peter shook his head and made to change the subject. “I can _be driven_. Like today. Stev- Captain Rogers is gonna drive us. In fact, let’s get going, we’re behind schedule.”

“You’re caring about a schedule all of a sudden?” Bucky said dubiously, punching the kid in the shoulder in what was probably meant to be a friendly goodbye gesture. Peter returned it by punching him back, and from the look on Bucky’s face, a lot harder.

Morgan grabbed her backpack, a giant, very full bag that was practically bigger than her. Steve had tried to take it once, but she adamantly insisted on carrying it herself. When he’d asked Tony – the only other person allowed to touch it – what was inside, he had shrugged and left Steve with the vague feeling that he had no clue either. “Is Uncle Steve a good driver?”

Bucky took it upon himself to answer that. “I dunno. He won’t stop throwing bikes around long enough for me to watch him drive them.”

Morgan looked at Steve in wide-eyed confusion. Steve clicked his tongue and grabbed his keys. “We’re taking a car.”

“Well, that assuages all my concerns,” Peter said, not looking like he’d had any particular concerns assuaged.

* * *

Happy and May had dropped off Morgan and one of Tony’s cars that morning, right before Peter remembered his laptop. It had a full tank and, Steve had been assured, was fully stocked with enough calories to feed him and Peter while still leaving a minimal amount of space on their laps for their luggage.

The interior was cool when they climbed inside, even though the car had been sitting in the sun, powered down, for hours by then. Morgan wasted no time and settled herself in the middle seat in the back, which instantly wrapped itself around her in a cocoon of padded leather seatbelts. Under her, the seat even lifted slightly, putting her at eyelevel with anyone who might sit beside her.

Peter looked intimidated. After a moment of hesitation, he picked the passenger seat.

Steve had been prepared to fasten a toddler car seat, so he reached out and tugged at Morgan’s automatic restraints. They seemed sturdy enough to him, but he could probably tear them if he had to. “Is this up to code?”

“Tony made it,” Peter speculated. “It’s better than up to code.”

Steve had no argument for that, so he dropped the subject and got inside the car as well. “If I get a ticket,” he said very seriously, staring at Morgan through the review mirror, “you have to pull your dad card.”

Morgan tilted her head as Steve pulled on his own seatbelt, eyes bright and searching. “Daddy never gets tickets.”

“Exactly.”

“Stop using her last name to oppress the masses,” Peter scolded, giving Steve his version of a disappointed look, which vaguely reminded him of the one time Wanda had tried to stare down Natasha over her Vision excursions. Steve ignored him and checked his mirrors.

Morgan was rummaging around in her backpack. “What’s oppress?”

“It’s when someone – anyone – won’t let you do what you want – literally whatever you want,” Peter explained.

Steve arched both eyebrows at him as Morgan nodded thoughtfully behind them. “And you’re supposed to be the well-behaved child?” he said dubiously.

“I’m just preparing Tony and Pepper for her teenage years,” Peter shrugged.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. Tony’s clearly got you for that.”

“But he’s the well-behaved child,” Morgan pointed out cheekily. Peter crossed his arms and his legs, and generally did a terrible impression of a well-behaved child.

Before he turned on the ignition, Steve peeked behind him into the backseat, where Morgan was happily swinging her legs back and forth. “Is my engine working?”

She beamed at him. Peter stared between them confusedly. “Yup. I double checked the order of the spark plugs.”

“Is she your mechanic?” Peter wondered, amused, while Steve mentally dithered over whether she was serious.

“No. Screwing things up is much more fun than fixing them,” Morgan argued.

Peter stared at her incomprehensibly. “Are you gonna grow up to be a super-villain?”

“Yes, and when you and me end up fighting, you’re gonna let me win, ‘cause you love me too much.”

“That’s so dramatic, I can’t wait. _Hold up_, does that mean you don’t love _me _enough to let me win?”

Steve tuned them out and peeled off his street.

Time blended the streets of Brooklyn into the interstate highway, both kids piping down as Steve sped up. In the lull of the trip, he had time to ponder over his reasons for the day’s task – even despite the way it had been arranged, Steve wasn’t particularly bothered to do it. He supposed he was starting to feel antsy, some sort of cabin fever; even Bucky was keeping busy, making himself useful for the Avengers. Steve didn’t have much to do, these days; he was happy to drive the kids for Tony, even if they both sometimes resembled less inhibited versions of Tony Stark.

Peter conked out after a period of time – Steve knew, from Tony’s rants, that the kid kept weird hours, between Spider-Man and high school. Morgan reached forward – how her car seat cage allowed her to do so would remain a mystery – and tried to tug Peter’s mouth open by pinching his cheeks. Spider-Man’s reflexes were, however, impeccable, so he caught her hands the minute her chubby little fingers touched his skin, and pretended bite down on them for good measure.

“It’s not fair that you keep using your super powers to fight me – I’m only a human being,” Morgan accused, pouting. She sounded, for some reason, like she had her mouth full.

Peter noticed her chewed up words and narrowed his eyes, clearly focusing his priorities. “What're you eating?”

“Cake.”

“There’s _cake_? Where's the cake?”

“In my mouth.”

And then Peter did something Tony had warned Steve about repeatedly, but which Steve had never actually born witness to – he did something stupid. Before Steve could so much as blink or activate his turn signals, the kid unfastened his seat belt and crawled on the car roof to plop down next to Morgan. She immediately started giggling hysterically. Steve barely managed not to swerve off the road.

He turned to glare over his shoulder. Peter stared back with innocent doe eyes, wilting only very slightly, which didn’t usually happen. “What?”

“I’m driving.”

“Yeah. You should really keep your eyes on the road.”

Steve’s head snapped forward again. “Don’t do that again.”

“_Perspective_, Captain Rogers. Who among us hasn’t wildly driven a car off-course while being shot at?”

“Me,” Morgan supplied, putting her hand up.

Peter nodded. “Yeah, me neither, but my point is we’ve all done way worse than nearly causing a major car crash.”

“Not me,” Morgan supplied again.

“I’m starting to realize why Happy hates driving you. Can you go back to sleep?” Steve requested.

Peter clicked on his seatbelt – a huge step in the right direction – and turned to Morgan. “There’s cake?”

* * *

“I need to pee.”

“New record,” Peter declared, holding out his fist for Morgan to fist-bump. “It’s been like an entire hour since you said that last.”

She slumped a little, seatbelt sliding down to press against her cheek. “Maybe if Uncle Steve didn’t drive so slowly, I wouldn’t need to pee so often.”

“You have a thorough understanding of the urinary system,” Peter said, at the same time Steve said, “I’m genuinely terrified of whatever experience you have with your dad behind the wheel.”

Morgan stuck her tongue out at both of them, making sure Steve caught it on the rearview mirror, and repeated, “I _need_ to _pee_.”

On his left, Steve watched the green lining of trees begin to thin, revealing a beaten dirt path. In the distance, the glimpse of cheap picnic tables and feeble wooden structures – presumably bathrooms – told him it was the closest to a rest stop they were probably going to get for a while. He checked the time and flicked on the turn signal.

“You two hungry?” Steve asked, to Morgan’s indifference and Peter’s enthusiastic assent. His own stomach rumbled. “We’ll stop for lunch.”

“And there’s a bathroom?” she insisted hopefully.

“At least a litter box,” Steve quipped, which prompted in Morgan an alarmingly impassive response.

Peter offered to help him take their lunch supplies out of the car, and Steve only felt bad about it until he remembered the kid could probably stop a careening bus with one hand. Either way, the thought fled from his mind when he opened the trunk and they both froze at the sight.

There were three coolers taking up the entire space, perfectly snug and immobile. From what Steve could see, each side of the cooler was very specifically decorated – not in the usual sleek, unembellished way Tony favored in his handiwork, but far more colorfully. The one staring Steve right in the face, in the middle, had white, blocky letters spelling out ‘_the only way to really be cool is to follow the rules_’; they framed a stylized depiction of what Steve knew was the summary for his own Wikipedia page – there was an entire subsection dedicated to his ‘_Clashes with authority_’ (a list that started with ‘_4F classification_’ and ended with _'Sokovia Accords and time spent as a war criminal_’), which Steve strongly suspected had been written by Tony himself. The only thing that had ever bothered him about it was that no one had seen fit to edit it out.

There was a thematic similarity to all the other pictures, on the rest of the coolers’ surface. To the left was a doodle of a smoking bike, clearly on fire, and above it the words ‘_stop, drop, and roll_’; another one just said ‘_your body is changing, I know how that feels_’ in a very simple, very wide font.

“Has he just been extremely _bored_ since he dumped the suit for good?” Steve wondered after a few seconds of silent contemplation.

Peter coughed politely. “I’m sure Tony didn’t notice- all of that,” he offered, magnanimous and stupid. Steve eyes, for some reason, travelled to the ‘_patience is the key to victory_’ image, which consisted of a crude depiction of a Captain-America-shaped hole in a blank wall – shield and all – right next to a cartoonish, ajar door. “Grabbed the wrong cooler- coolers?” Peter tried again, weaker.

“You know how Tony returned the shield to me?” Steve said patiently. “He put a teddy bear on top of it. For the pleasure of having me watch him take it out of his trunk – from under a stuffed animal.”

“Yeah, no, even I’m not that naïve,” Peter admitted, shrugging in defeat. “This was totally on purpose. I was just giving you an excuse to pretend otherwise.”

“A bad excuse. Did you_ tell_ him about the PSA’s?”

Peter’s expression instantly turned shifty. “Why would you think that?”

“How many high-schoolers does he know?”

“Two,” the kid offered. “If we’re not counting my friends.”

“Parker.”

Peter huffed and crossed his arms. “It was a matter of loyalty.”

Steve clicked his tongue and shoved one of the coolers into his hands; ‘_what is a hero?_’ stared back at him, over a childish painting of a bug Steve suspected was supposed to be lice. The American flag served as the background.

“Oh, so _that’s _what my drawing was for,” Morgan said, idling beside the car with her backpack on her back. Steve pulled a face and pretended he hadn’t heard her, retrieving a second cooler; Peter tried to peer over the one in his arms to see what they were staring at.

“You know, it’s probably a good thing that he’s exploring his artistic side,” the kid tried yet again. Steve took out the last cooler and slammed the trunk closed.

Morgan skipped ahead of them, keeping to the path. The clearing where several tables were scattered wasn’t deserted – in a far-off table, a large figure was eating by himself with his back turned to Steve, and two teenagers were giggling to themselves a couple feet away, fully immersed in each other over a paper bag, in a sea of trashed junk food. To Steve’s left, a red-headed woman was struggling to feed four very young children by herself. She was far too distracted to notice the three of them passing by, keeping one toddler from eating his bib while another dumped spoonsful of soup on his own hair, but Steve overheard her muttering to herself – “_Avengers_ – couldn’t have waited to bring everyone back until the _second _pair of twins was old enough to help me take care of the two that blipped, oh no – _James_,” she snapped, and Steve caught sight of a harried-looking man sprinting back to her table, “what the hell took you so long?”

“It was five minutes-”

“_Yeah_, five minutes alone with _four babies_.”

“Let’s walk faster,” Peter said in a strained sort of voice, clearly trying very hard to keep a straight face.

“‘No good deed goes unpunished’,” Morgan parroted somberly, which made Steve’s eye twitch. He suddenly wished he had a cap and sunglasses. Somehow, they successfully failed to be noticed, choosing the table farthest from everyone. “Pete, has anyone ever complained about Spider-Man?”

“All the time,” Peter said, shrugging, but Steve could tell he was uncomfortable in his reply, for whatever reason. “I think it’s the color scheme, sometimes it rubs people the wrong way.”

Morgan’s eyes had narrowed. She clambered over the table, standing not on the stool, but on the tabletop; Steve barely allowed her to straighten her back before he plucked her back down by the scruff of her neck. He didn’t do it fast enough, however – Morgan had a look of delight on her face, distracted from whatever it was that she had been about to tell Peter. “I saw a _swing_!” she said, wriggling out of his hold and shooting off in the direction she’d been facing.

Steve tracked her movements, spotted the swing, and eyed it apprehensively. “You figure we can let her, or is that one of those things that kills kids?” he asked Peter, but when he turned around, Peter was no longer there.

Steve looked back at the swings and found him taking a seat in one of them, Morgan right on his heels to climb onto the other.

The coolers were half-haphazardly packed on top of and under the picnic table. Steve opened the closest one and found a colorful collection of fruit inside. He figured that was as good a place to start as any, and cleared the tabletop.

* * *

Feeling like he was somehow fundamentally unqualified for this job, Steve cut up half the fruit in the cooler, and made a come-hither gesture for Peter when he was done. He was pretty sure Tony had had the visual of Steve peeling fruit for a couple of kids in mind, like a soccer mom missing an apron (he had staunchly refused to check whether there was an apron somewhere), when he’d stocked the car. It seemed stupid, Steve thought, sliding a chopped banana into an Iron Man-themed bowl, because Tony wasn’t even there to see it. The end result of his efforts appeared to be a small banquet, so he was counting on the teenager having a bottomless stomach.

Peter acknowledged Steve’s call; still sat on the swing, he cast a furtive look around, swung upwards one last time, and made a leap that could just barely be considered human.

“You’d think you get enough of that from your night job,” Steve commented, when Peter wrangled Morgan back to the table.

Peter frowned at him incomprehensibly. “You think I developed the idea of _swinging webs _just for the thematic effect?”

Steve frowned back. “Yes.”

“It’s a high-stakes version of swinging on one of those,” the kid told him, gesturing toward the swings.

“Peter’s very passionate about swings,” Morgan said, climbing on the bench to sit; her feet dangled, helplessly far from the ground. “_Whoosh_.”

Steve shoved a bowl in her direction and decided not to go anywhere near that one. “Food.”

She frowned at him. “Pineapple.”

“Yeah?”

Morgan shook her head very resolutely. “Nuh-uh.”

“Hate to interrupt the one-word tennis,” Peter said, interrupting, “but it’s taking too long.”

“You and daddy always say that, but then you talk for ages,” she retorted at once.

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“I asked you how much weight your webs could pull, once, and you went on about chlorine isotopes for fifteen minutes.”

“Can you two shut up and eat, before I feel dumber than a five-year-old and the fruit is no longer fresh?” Steve said, cutting off the bickering.

Morgan turned her attention back on him. “I don’t like pineapple.”

“Give it to the birds,” Steve advised, not entirely sure how serious he was.

Morgan paused, contemplated him thoughtfully, and then nodded like he’d made a great point. The way she looked around, afterwards, made it look like she was searching for something – but whatever her eyes caught on, it wasn’t a bird.

“Hey, Peter,” she called, in the tone of someone commenting on the weather, “isn’t that one of the guys you and Captain America and Uncle Bucky arrested in the video? The one you showed me this morning.”

“What?” Peter said, bemused. “Of course not, that’d be a ridiculous coincide- _Oh my god_,” he shrieked, actually laying eyes on the man Morgan was talking about. “What the _fu-_”

Peter cut himself off; Morgan was giggling again. Alarmed, Steve followed their gaze, and sure enough, two tables over was sat a guy in a blue cap and shabby jeans, facial features absurdly familiar. His back wasn’t turned anymore, which permitted Steve a good look. In the video, he’d been the first person Spider-Man had helped up, directly under the streetlight, before webbing him against the wall.

As though sensing their eyes on him, the man twisted and stared in their direction, and Peter nearly sent himself into cardiac arrest. He took less than a quarter of a second to slide underneath the table, but Steve dragged him back up before he could call more attention to himself. Peter looked up at him in a panic.

“I need to get out of here,” he hissed pleadingly. Steve appreciated the deference he was being shown, considering the kid could easily get out of his grasp if he wanted to. He was about to open his mouth and tell Peter to be less conspicuous about it, but Morgan chose that moment to remind both of them who, exactly, was the only person around with working brain cells.

“You were wearing a mask, dunderhead,” she admonished Peter fondly. He blinked at her, and even Steve felt patronized. “Sit down and eat.”

Blue-cap man walked over to their table. Peter stared blankly, but the guy only had eyes for Steve.

“I- excuse me, sorry to bother you,” he said, looking a little overwhelmed. “You’re- uh, you’re Captain Rogers, aren’t you?”

Steve smiled tightly. He reminded himself he was the only safe option, if there was to be a center of attention. “Yessir.”

The man’s eyes fell on Peter and Morgan, mouth gaping slightly. “I didn’t know you had-”

“That’s my Uncle Steve,” Morgan interrupted before he could fully voice his assumption, happily reaching for her second soda. “And that’s my brother,” she added, when Peter quickly took it out of her hands.

Peter made some unearthly noise in response. The man stared at him, which only turned the kid redder. “Woah.”

The lack of recognition on his face, looking at Tony Stark’s daughter, reminded Steve of Tony’s aversion to having Morgan anywhere near the public eye. After Thanos and the ensuing media frenzy, he’d nearly sequestered his little girl for a month, keeping her securely home while she slowly went insane from cabin fever.

Steve decided against explaining the family dynamic. The less information was out there, the happier Tony would be.

“I’m Mike,” the man said, probably coming to the conclusion he hadn’t introduced himself. Mike was faintly red on the cheeks and did not offer a last name. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he repeated, “but when I saw who- I thought I’d come shake your hand.”

Steve loosened the tightness around his shoulders despite himself. He held out his hand without further ceremony. Mike grasped it eagerly. “Didn’t have to ask,” Steve assured. “You lose someone in the-”

“Ah, no, I- I was one of those who were gone.”

Mike didn’t seem to like Steve’s topic of choice too badly, from the way he had interrupted. Steve could pick up on that much. “Glad to have you back, then. Keeping busy?”

“Yeah,” Mike replied cautiously, like he wasn’t very sure he really was making small talk with Steve Rogers. “This and that. You know, I met some of your buddies the other day,” he continued, suddenly much more at ease. Steve grimaced, Peter tensed, and Morgan picked some pineapple out of her fruit salad. “Not- uh, not in the best of circumstances.”

Steve hummed and hoped he didn’t look too constipated. Morgan was eyeing him with that funny look Tony got when he thought Steve was being obtuse, so he assumed he wasn’t being all that successful. “That so?”

“I was acting stupid,” Mike confessed sheepishly, one hand scratching the back of his neck. “Just- just a dumb scrape outside of a bar.” Before Steve could open his mouth, Mike lit up. “Spider-Man was there, though. Man, he’s great. Got my little sister out of a bad frat party, few years ago, before everyone blipped.” Steve inconspicuously tugged upwards on Peter’s shirt so he wouldn’t disappear under the table again. Mike was oblivious, but Morgan was listening attentively. “She’s not that little anymore. It’s pretty weird.”

Steve heard Morgan start squirming restlessly, and by the time he looked, she’d produced another mysterious slice of cake. “Here,” she told Mike, “you can have some cake.”

“Hey, thanks, little lady,” he said in puzzlement, accepting the offer with an intimidated look in Steve’s direction. “That’s- very nice of you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said cheerfully. “It’s not poisoned.”

“Assumed as much-” Mike sputtered hurriedly, looking wildly like he was now wondering whether that was something he should be worried about. In lieu of using his mouth to stutter and babble further, he took a giant bite of the pastry. “Well, I’d better go,” he added awkwardly, mouth full. Morgan merely stared back, and it seemed to unnerve him. “An honor to meet you, Captain Rogers.” After a single, polite nod, Mike fled and took the cake with him.

Peter and Steve exchanged a long look, the kid a shade whiter than his healthiest color. Morgan finished her fruit. “I’m gonna go play on the swings while you make the sandwiches,” she announced, and immediately followed through.

Steve kept his eye on her until he’d made sure she’d stay within a fifty-meter range. “I’m supposed to _make_ sandwiches?”

Peter’s head slumped down on the table, nervous breakdown completed.

* * *

“She’s terrifying.”

“You wanted him to run off.”

“She turned a slice of cake into a threat.”

“I’m pretty sure it was a show of appreciation. I get the feeling she likes it when people praise Spider-Man,” Steve pointed out, feeling as though he was saying something obvious.

Peter didn’t seem to be feeling that at all. In fact, he seemed to be driving at another point entirely. “She does like Spider-Man,” he agreed absent-mindedly.

Steve squinted at him. Peter hadn’t followed Morgan this time; he’d stayed back, ostensibly to help Steve make the sandwiches, but really for early access to the food. He’d wasted no time taking a bite off a hastily-made ham-and-cheese one, but unlike his appetite, his mind was clearly somewhere else. He was watching Morgan raptly, who was swinging back and forth, far less interested in lunch.

Steve reached for a slice of cheese, which Peter had assured him Morgan liked. “Which is good,” he said, making Peter start like he had been speaking to himself and not Steve, “unless you don’t think so?”

Peter shuffled uncomfortably. “Why wouldn’t I think so?”

Steve stared as he stuffed half the sandwich into his mouth. “No idea.”

Blue-cap Mike had collected his things and hurried away, walking past them to give Steve a hesitant, polite smile. Peter tracked his exit just for a few seconds, and then went back to look at Morgan. “Did you ever go on vacation when you were Captain America?” the kid wondered suddenly, apropos of nothing.

Steve tried hard to remember. “There was this one time Nat and I went to the mall,” he offered. “Well, we were on the run from Hydra. And Tony threw a party once – though _that_ got interrupted by Ultron.”

“What about when you were a war criminal or something?”

“We spent that whole time clearing out Hydra bases.”

“So, no,” Peter concluded grumpily. “This is starting to feel like a full-time job.”

“‘Cause it is,” Steve shrugged. “You’re always on call.”

“That’s all well and good, but last time I was on call outside of business hours, my field trip to MoMA got interrupted by a field trip to outer space. And it was the _worst_ field trip ever.”

Steve winced. “I’ve been pretty bored lately. I’ll take you to MoMA if you’d like,” he offered, but Peter had a look on his face that told Steve he’d very much missed the point. “Listen, kid, if you thought, when you took up Spider-Man, that you were going to have a regular life-”

“N-no,” Peter protested hastily. “That’s not my point. I’m- not _all _the time. I’m proud of Spider-Man, I just don’t want- I mean, schedules, you know?” Steve did not. “Maybe sometimes I just want to be a regular kid. _Sometimes_. Even if that’s- petulant.”

“It’s not petulant,” Steve denied automatically. “You _are _a regular kid. Roughly- twenty-five per cent of the time.”

“Inspiring,” Peter breathed, sarcastically.

Steve’s eyebrows flew up. “It’s _confidence _you’re after? I can do that too.”

“I’m- well-aware,” Peter said falteringly. Steve vividly remembered him on the front lines of a battlefield not fit for sixteen-year-olds, under Steve's command like everyone else. The kid continued before he could follow that train of thought to stressful places. “But confidence is for Spider-Man.”

“_You’re_ Spider-Man,” Steve said, furrowing his brows and silently questioning Peter’s sanity.

The kid threw his hands in the air. “Do I sound confident right now?”

“Alright, Parker, you’re really losing me here. I’m nowhere near as smart as Tony, use the small words.”

“Morgan thinks I’m- like her dad,” Peter mumbled. “Looks up to me like the same sort of- hero, I think, sometimes. Or like- Captain America. How am I supposed to live up to _that_?”

“You think too much,” Steve replied patiently. “And I have to tell you – that girl is- very insightful. If she thinks so, good chance it’s true.”

“What kind of argument is that?”

“Hopefully a confidence-building one.”

“I don’t want confidence,” Peter said. “I don’t want _her_ to expect confidence. Like she expects from Tony. I don’t have a lot of family, and I- I don’t want to be- unreachable.”

“Do you really think,” Steve said slowly, finally feeling as though he was grasping what Peter was getting at, “Tony would _ever _allow her to look at him like he’s _unreachable_?”

“No,” Peter agreed reluctantly. “It’s just- she heard a lot of Spider-Man stories, these past five years. It’s different. And when I got back, she was really excited about-” he pursed his lips. “But I’m- it’s, the thing is, I’m kind of liking just- being the sibling,” the kid said hesitantly, like he was testing the word. “I don’t want- I don’t want her to get me and Spider-Man confused.”

“You have a lot of identity issues,” Steve said thoughtlessly before he really processed it. “I get it,” he hastened to add, starting over. “The thing that made me good at being Captain America was never my confidence, or my- superpowers.”

“Right,” Peter agreed, relieved. “I want to bring who I am to Spider-Man, not the other way around.”

“Morgan doesn’t look at you to see Spider-Man, Parker,” Steve assured him. “She doesn’t look at anybody like that. I’m not sure the girl even knows I was ever an Avenger. I’m just Uncle Steve. It wasn’t Captain America she asked for help, back when- you know.”

“It’s not the same,” he insisted. “You didn’t blip.”

Steve winced at the reminder and at the word the returning half of humanity had come up with for that five-year plague, and decided against explaining just how much distance – literal and figurative – Tony had put between his lake-house and the Avengers, back then. “Peter,” he said instead, very patiently, “she was calling you her brother the day of the funeral. You’ve been _acting _like her brother the entire trip.”

Peter stared down at a piece of ham as though it held the answer to a question Steve wasn’t aware of at all. The back of his neck looked flushed. “I have never had a sibling in my life,” he replied, wide-eyed. “I have never had to _act _like a sibling in my life. She’s altering my brain stuff.”

“Yeah, sounds like some serious neurological damage,” Steve agreed glibly, deciding the problem was fixed. “You’ve got a lot on your plate, Queens. Is it asinine to suggest you develop some time management skills?”

“Or maybe a vacation.”

“Or maybe that,” Steve conceded. “Tony had something in mind, dragging you out to Malibu, didn’t he?”

“Tony always has a lot of things in mind,” Peter shrugged, yawning.

Steve slapped a second slice of bread over his work, and slid the plate over to Morgan’s empty seat. “Morgan, I’ve got your lunch,” he called out, loudly, to the little girl, pointing at it.

“Can you come bring it to me?” she yelled back, swinging eight feet up into the air.

“No, I forgot the trampoline in my other pants,” he replied, reaching for more bread. “Come down from there and maybe we can talk.”

“She definitely did not hear a word you just said,” Peter advised, as Morgan kept cheerfully and obliviously swinging back and forth. He had devoured his first sandwich already, and was finished making the second. “No superhero hearing.”

“If I throw the sandwich to her, will she catch it?” Steve wondered.

Peter stared, munching on his food. “I’m not questioning your aim, in your position as the Guinness record holder for Frisbee throwing –” Steve squinted at him and once again silently cursed Tony's influence on this kid – “but I am questioning hers.”

“You like climbing stuff, right? Go do your circus gymnast thing and bring her back here.”

“Okay,” Peter said, and it sounded, to Steve, like the tension had at least partially bled out of him.

When Steve glanced up, his eyes found Morgan giving no warning before launching herself into Peter’s arms mid-swing. He caught her, and they grinned at each other, making Steve suspect Peter’s reasons for recklessly allowing the five-year-old’s whims were related to his brother-issues. Steve was halfway through writing a text to Tony – _I can’t tell which one of them is going to break an arm first _– before he remembered _this_ was on the extremely short list of things Tony did not joke about.

* * *

“You guys eat a _lot_,” Morgan noted, staring at the amount of bread Steve and Peter had put away. By then, the coolers were practically empty; she was still working on her first serving. “You never eat this much when you come over. Is it because you don’t like the food mom and dad make?”

Peter and Steve choked on their respective sandwiches. “No,” they said at the same time, and Steve suspected Morgan took very attentive note of the similar hint of panic in their tone of voice.

She produced a shrewd smile. “Is this blackmail material?”

“No,” Steve repeated firmly, at the same time Peter dejectedly said “yes.”

Morgan’s grin widened. “Okay,” she said, with an air of great – and manufactured – innocence. “You know, you don’t have to worry, you can just feed whatever you don’t like to the alpaca.”

“What?” Steve said blankly. “What alpaca?”

She squinted, bit down on her sandwich, and instantly recoiled, eyeing it accusingly. “Tomato,” she growled tartly.

Peter glanced at her in surprise. “Oh, you don’t like those this week?” Morgan shook her head, pulling a single slice out of the bread.

“Alpaca?” Steve reiterated, feeling like they were drifting off-subject.

“He’s not here to eat the tomato,” Morgan reported, concentrating hard on her careful inspection of the sandwich for further undesirables.

Peter took pity on Steve. “They have an alpaca,” he explained. That much, Steve had worked out, and in his opinion, it was a sorely lacking explanation.

“It’s a pet. Like Lucky,” Morgan added, which didn’t make Steve feel any more enlightened.

“You have an alpaca?” He gaped at her. “You have an _alpaca_ and your dad was giving me hell over a _dog_?”

“He saw an opportunity to pick an annoying fight with you,” Peter told him wisely, while Morgan nodded along beside him.

“His favorite pastime,” she added happily. “Hell is a bad word.”

“Which you know ‘cause he said it first,” Steve countered readily and unrepentantly. He ignored Peter's scandalized glare. “How come I’ve never seen your- pet?”

“He's not really around when we have visitors,” Morgan explained. “Except for Peter, because Gerald is my friend and I wanted Peter to meet him.”

_Gerald_, Steve mouthed silently, suddenly getting an inkling as to why Tony had refrained from sharing about this. “Did you name him?”

Morgan's expression screwed up. “You think I’d name an alpaca Gerald? I’m five, not my dad.” Steve snickered shamelessly.

“Tony says he's a pain in the ass, he’s always escaping his enclosure to eat their veggies,” Peter commented offhandedly.

Morgan hummed innocently. “Gerald's very smart. He only eats the gross stuff mom and dad put in their salads.”

For a few seconds, the sound of the wind whistling against the trees surrounding them was the only thing reaching Steve's ears. He glanced away from her to exchange a completely unsurprised look with Peter. “Wonder how he gets out,” Steve said in a monotone.

“Tony doesn’t know,” Peter informed him helpfully.

“Some alpaca. Way too clever for his own good,” Steve said, pointedly staring at Morgan.

She twisted around in her seat, plopping an elbow on the table. With her face smushed against her arm, the following words came out muffled. “Very smart.”

“And he's your friend,” Steve pointed out, as Peter corrected her posture.

“Gerald is my friend,” Morgan confirmed.

“Who eats your parents' salads,” Peter continued. “Does he just like you better?”

Morgan harrumphed and crossed her arms. “They only make salads because it’s the only thing they can’t burn or microwave.”

“And you and Gerald are staging a coup of the kitchen,” Peter said, nodding in understanding. “I should get May an alpaca.”

“I don’t know what’s ‘staging a coup’,” Morgan said, and for some reason, ate the top slice of bread of her sandwich by itself.

Peter helped Steve pack up the coolers while Morgan finished eating. The kid still had half a sandwich in his mouth, too, but he promised he’d have it eaten by the time they slammed shut the trunk. In the meantime, Morgan meandered around, chewing slowly, until the food vanished from her hands faster than it vanished from Peter’s.

Steve squinted at her, confused by the proceedings, and then his attention was drawn to the rustling of feathers; a flock of birds were avidly pecking at something on the ground. Morgan’s eyes were very wide when he looked back at her. “Is that your lunch?” Steve asked.

Morgan locked her hands behind her back. “It belongs to the birds now. Peter, can I have your sandwich?”

“Absolutely not, fight the birds,” Peter advised.

Morgan rounded on Steve. “Uncle Steve, can you fight the birds for me?”

“No, birds are scary. I’ll make you another one, you can eat in the car.”

* * *

Peter was far more animated on the second half of their trip. He didn’t hesitate to get in the back next to Morgan, this time, which left Steve with an even stronger sense of being a glorified chauffeur. They chattered animatedly while she dropped crumbs all over the seats and floor mats, until it was Morgan’s energy that started dwindling.

“Peter, why didn’t Uncle Happy and Aunt May come?” she asked a few hours into the drive, twisting around to plop her chin on Peter’s shoulder.

Peter recoiled, pretending to wipe drool off his shirt, to which Morgan retaliated by reaching forward and licking his cheek. Peter was clearly struggling to control his laughter, but he dutifully cried out and vigorously rubbed at his face. “They’re not coming to avoid being slobbered all over,” he declared, pushing her back into her seat with a hand on her entire face. “And also for some secret reason no one is telling me about, because they all think I’m stupid enough not to notice when I’m being lied to.”

Steve suffered a sudden bout of coughing. When he risked a glance at the backseat, Morgan was staring at him intently. “I see what you mean,” she said, nodding at Peter. “I’m a much better liar.”

“You are,” Peter agreed. “I’m still convinced the ignition on your dad’s car _was _already webbed up when you got there.”

“I think someone was really trying to stop me from getting the flu shot that day,” Morgan argued seriously.

“Can’t imagine who,” Steve deadpanned, Peter nodding along. “I think Spider-Man needs to be more careful where he leaves his web-shooters. _Someone_ might find them.”

“Oh, I didn’t find them,” Morgan corrected. “I just asked and Peter handed them over."

“We have to make a rule about that,” Peter defended himself. “From now on, Morgan’s not allowed to ask for things, it’s too much power for her.”

Morgan huffed. Steve stared straight ahead so his expression was hidden from them both. “You don’t get to make rules.”

In the rearview mirror, Steve saw Peter cross his arms. “I’m older. That means you're the spoiled one and I’m the one who makes the rules.”

“Bet whoever made _that_ rule was the older brother too.”

“The world is ruled by old white men,” Peter confirmed.

“Not for long,” she muttered darkly. Steve exchanged an uneasy look with Peter. Morgan returned quickly to her usual perkiness. Her second wind of energy was lasting far too long. “I have to pee. When’s the next stop?”

“There isn’t one,” Steve said, unable to keep in a relieved sigh. “We’re here.”

Both kids perked up to stare out the window. Tony had asked Steve to meet him at a parking lot reasonably distanced from metropolitan areas; it wasn’t very crowded, and the sun was setting, light falling on the gleaming surface of a cherry red sports car.

There was a sudden, sharp rapping of knuckles against one of the back windows as Steve rolled to a stop next to it, and he obligingly slid it open. Tony poked his head inside and took his sunglasses off to grin at Morgan. “You’ve spent a total of eight hours with Uncle Steve, so I assume by now you’re a battle-seasoned veteran? How much petty thieving have you valiantly prevented today?”

She reached up to pepper his cheeks with kisses. “I don’t know what that means. Can we go build sand-castles now?”

Tony reciprocated with a noisy smack of his lips against the top of her head. “Absolutely not, they’re worth pennies on the dollar in this economy.”

“Also, we’re like a full day’s drive away from the nearest beach,” Peter piped up, leaning over to have his hair ruffled.

“I'm being oppressed,” Morgan declared grumpily.

“What could've possibly made you think I run a democracy?” Tony scolded. “And oh _good_, I was wondering what new word you'd added to your lexicon today.”

Steve got out of the car to greet Pepper, who was waiting patiently for him to properly park the car. Morgan jumped out of her seat right into her mother’s arms, and Tony surprised Steve by pulling him into a hug of his own initiative.

“Thank you so much for today,” Pepper said, shifting Morgan in her arms until the little girl’s head was resting on her shoulder. “You have no idea the hassle you spared us.”

“I think Pepper means you,” Peter whispered in Morgan’s ear, which made her squawk indignantly. He danced away as she catapulted herself from Pepper’s arms and in his direction; Tony cocked his head as the two of them began a not-so-competitive game of cat-and-mouse. Pepper seemed exasperated.

“I was expecting Morgan to be restless, spending all day in a car,” she said, “but Peter too?”

“He’s letting off some steam,” Steve offered. Tony stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly; Peter and Morgan obligingly stopped and returned to home base.

He clicked his tongue as soon as they were within earshot. “You get a welcome committee and decide to take off running?”

“Is that what we are?” Pepper murmured, helping Steve with Morgan’s bags; Peter jumped to grab his own when he saw them. “By the way, do you wanna help with the bags, honey?”

“I dunno what to tell you, I’m just here to sign autographs,” Tony said, shrugging but he opened his trunk for them, checking that there was no more baggage left in Steve’s car. Morgan immediately requested her backpack, and then began chattering to her father about her day unprompted, while he worked and listened attentively.

“Today, we met Mike, he wanted Spider-Man's autograph,” she said far too casually. Tony, who was rearranging the baggage to his liking, nearly smacked his head on the trunk door. “I think. He wanted Uncle Steve's autograph too, for some reason.”

Tony looked at Peter, who only shrugged in return. Pepper patted him on the back for comfort. “He didn’t know Peter's identity,” Steve took it upon himself to clarify. “It just- came up.”

Tony didn’t seem, with all his intellect, to be able to come up with a way for Spider-Man to come up in conversation, coincidentally, in front of Peter Parker, but he didn’t press. He looked between Peter and Morgan. “Why do the two of you insist on turning my hair prematurely gray like it’s some God-given right?”

“Ask God?” Peter suggested, munching on a giant slice of cake.

Tony tried to take a bite out of it, but he was several genetic mutations away from being able to match Peter's reflexes. “Where the hell did you get cake, kid?”

“Ask God,” Morgan piped up cheerfully.

Peter grinned at her even as Tony glowered at them both. “God’s busy,” he said. “He’s watching over all the saints in the universe and laser-sniping the sinners.”

“Am I blushing?” Tony said.

Steve rolled his eyes in freakishly similar timing with Pepper. “Alright,” she said, placing her hands on Morgan’s shoulders to steer her in the direction of the car, and beckoning Peter to follow, “time for the newest dream team to get in the car. Uncle Steve still has a long trip ahead of him.”

“‘Newest dream team’?” Tony echoed, glancing at Steve. “What are the spawn plotting?”

Steve watched Peter and Morgan mutter and bicker their way into the car’s backseat; she slipped, climbing up, and he tugged her into place, never once breaking their repertoire. The pink backpack was dumped on the middle seat as a barrier, and Morgan slipped off her shoes. All day, Peter had been oscillating between impressing her as Spider-Man, and trying to push Spider-Man away from her mind. Right then, Steve watched them volley one of her slippers back and forth between their seats – a particularly childish game of hot potato, from his vantage point – and couldn't really see Spider-Man anywhere.

“Nothing I’m aware of,” Steve said. Tony squinted at him, and they approached the open door, where Morgan could be seen adding a second shoe to their game. Pepper closed the trunk Tony had left open, and then removed the shoes from her daughter’s hands.

“That doesn’t bode well,” Tony replied, making the kids tune into their conversation.

“That’s only because you’re a paranoid guy, Tony.”

“I’m about to use some strong language. Kid, cover your ears.” Tony pondered the situation and then added, “Cap, you too.”

“You were talking to Morgan, right?” Peter clarified, and Steve decided the frown on his face meant he genuinely didn’t know the answer to that question.

Morgan frowned. “I’m not Cap.”

Tony and Peter snorted. Steve waved them both off and kissed Morgan and Pepper’s cheeks. “I’m going.” Tony clapped his arm in farewell and slid into the driver’s seat, immediately turning back to look at Peter.

“So why were you late?” Steve heard Tony nag as he walked to his own car. “Did you get stuck inside another one of my highly secure governmental storage facilities?”

“No,” Peter replied casually. “I just needed to get on Happy’s nerves. For lying to me about whatever he had planned with my aunt this morning. And y’know, for lying about whatever he has planned, in general, this week.”

“I know nothing about anything, don’t contact me about this ever again,” Tony said, immediate and unprompted. Steve drove away with a grin before he could hear Peter’s reply.


End file.
